Yes, we are back home in our own dusty little space with the great view. My dear darling friend who lives deep in safe well-upholstered suburbia took us in like the straggly bunch of waifs we were, put us up for the evacuation day, fed us, left beautiful magazines lying around for me to read and then got my birthday wrong and gave me the most delicious present and ice cream cake and everybody sang happy birthday. Only it wasn't my birthday which was hilarious.
And now we shall not talk of fires any more 'kay? Because, hallelujah, it is cool and there is wet stuff falling from the sky. Small children all over Melbourne are asking their mothers what it is because they haven't before experienced its damp delights in their lifetimes.
So. I have been doing wonderful things, but not blogging about them. I went to a bloggy dinner and met a lovely quilter and received a love chicken. And the following day I rose in the milky dawn and spent the entire day with likeminded friends travelling on trains and viewing the most exquisite couture exhibition and discovered that there was a time when Princess Margaret was in possession of a very tiny waist and that the queen once wore a dress featuring embroidered bees to a reception in France. Inspiration and ideas spun their gossamer threads around my mind and left me exhilarated.
Also I started semester two at Uni and the amount of reading I have to do overwhelms me and it's only Week One. Homework, at my ripe old age; it kills me. I have spinning homework too from my new class in Panton Hill (Spinning for Beginners Who Don't Know How the Hell their Spinning Wheel Works).
But I have not been coming to this space and telling you about these things and I don't know why. I am tired, so very tired. And maudlin tonight here on the eve-eve of my forty-fifth birthday. I feel old. And what I would really, really like for my birthday is a DSLR Pentax camera but I don't think it is going to happen.
I also read a quote today: "There is this deep, hilarious chasm between people who love to write and people who love to write and do it well." That really is depressing although I don't think the author (someone whose blog I adore) meant it to be. It's just my state of mind.
Enough with the self pity. Time to put on the happy face, not the old, tired face.